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THE WHITE SLAVE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

“I’ve got to give up the struggle. I’m no good to 
any one on the face of the earth any longer.” 

The words were uttered by a tall, thin man, with 
long, bony, white hands and a gaunt, deeply-lined, 
chalk-colored face. He might have been handsome 
when he was younger, but now his once regular features 
seemed abnormally prominent, while his cheeks were 
sunken and his hollow black eyes seemed to have lost 
their luster and had only a hunted, haunted expression. 

“Oh, come now, you must not get discouraged. Crops 
are going to be good this year,and next winter we shall 
all be on our feet again,” rejoined his companion, a 
strongly built but prematurely bent man of perhaps 
fift}^ years of age. His face was of the honest, agree- 
ble type which is often seen among the pioneers of the 
West, but it showed deep lines of suffering and anxiety 
and deeper lines of indomitable courage. He looked 
like a man whose willingness and desire to work was 
far greater than the strength of an iron constitution. 
Labor and hope might have been his two watchwords, 
if he had had any, through life. 

“Next yearl Oh, I’m tired to death of hearing about 
next year. What do I care about next year if it is al- 
ways next year, — if this year is a never-ending year. 
Crops were good enough last year, but we had to sell at 
starvation rates. You know that well enough yourself.” 

“That was because of the over-production last year 
in the crops we had to sell. People know better this 
year and they haven’t all raised the same thing.” 

“I don’t know whether it was that or not. Jones 
was in last night and he says prices have been falling 

3 


4 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


on everything for thirteen years, ever since ’73. He 
says they passed some kind of a 4jill in Congress that 
year that killed silver so it isn’t money any more, and 
that that doubled the value of gold, so that we mustn’t 
expect to get but half as much money for our grain as 
we used to do, at least unless they repeal that law.” 

“Pshaw! Jones is an old crank! • The idea of silver 
not being money! That’s all right. Next time I see 
Jones I’ll just tell him that if silver isn’t money he can 
just hand me over what he has in his pockets. I’ve, 
heard a little of that kind of talk myself, and it just 
makes me mad! Why, do you suppose if I had $100 in 
gold and $100 in silver I would go and throw all my 
silver in the Gulf of Mexico just when I had my mort- 
gage on the farm to payoff? And that’s just what they 
try to make us believe the United States government 
did when it had its war debt to pay. Do you suppose 
if such a bill had been even brought up in Congress 
that the papers all over the country wouldn’t have let 
us know it? Why,that’s tomfoolery! In the first place, 

I happened to read the constitution of this country 
when I was a boy and I know that they would have to 
repeal that document before they could prevent silver 
being money. In the second place, I lived in this coun- 
try myself in ’73 and I would have known it if any such 
bill had been thought of. And in the third place, 
silver is money and there is no getting around that. ” 

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t just see through Jones’ 
proposition. But he says that some member of Congress 
or some one or other was bribed by England to doctor 
the bill so as to make it demonetize silver, and that it 
has been proven on them. I suppose, though, that the 
people whose duty it is to look after such things are 
more apt to understand them than a man like Jones is, 
way out here in the West and having his own business 
to tend to. I don’t know about it and I don’t suppose 
I care! I don’t care for anything any more, except to 
die. I’m going to do it pretty soon, too. I feel it. 
Oh! I know I am a coward. But, you know, when 
death comes one can’t help it, and as long as one can’t 


OR THE CROSS OP GOLD 


5 


help it I don’t knpw as- it does any good to try not to 
be glad and relieved Anyhow, it wouldn’t work, if I 
tried it. It doesn’t matter to me any more what it is 
that has made it so hard to run a ranch and that is 
making it harder every year. Some years our crops are 
too poor and some years too large, but it is always too 
something. We did better in the first few years, when 
we were only getting things into shape and were look- 
ing forward with longing to the time when we would 
have all our land under cultivation and our trees would 
be tall and we wouldn’t have any more Indian scares. 
That time has come, but somehow there seems to be 
something a thousand times worse than a wilderness 
surrounded by Indians to struggle against now. It 
doesn’t matter to me any more, but if it is that law 
that is so hard on us I wish they would repeal it so you 
could have a chance, for you deserve it if any one in the 
world does.” 

The other man had been listening wdth his face in 
his hands. When his friend spoke of death he looked 
up as if to protest, but there was a look on the face op- 
posite him which startled and restrained him. Tie had 
been used to that face and had never thought of death 
in connection with it, but now that he looked at it 
with the mere suggestion in his mind he saw something 
in it that the mask of familiarity had hidden from his 
eyes before, and he buried his face in his hands again. 

Then when his friend had finished he got up and be- 
gan wandering about the room, talking as he did so, 
but carefully ignoring part of what had been said. 

“For my part, I am willing to trust these knotty 
questions of law to the people who have studied them 
all their lives. I wonder if I told you that Philip has 
tackled the monetary question. The fact is, he began 
studying it some years ago, but he said the other day 
that he was just arriving at a complete understanding 
of it. He says that when one succeeds in getting at 
the real question it isn’t half as difficult to under- 
stand as it is made to appear, but that all sorts of rub- 
bish- figuratively speaking, has been thrown on top of 


6 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


it, apparently to ^lide its importance, and that shovel- 
ing off iihe rubbish is a little like hunting for a gold 
mine. You have to sift everything to the very bottom 
in order not to overlook the most important things. 
He has studied both sides thoroughly and he is a great 
worker. His uncle in New York has sent him a lot of 
books and papers on the subject ” 

“Philip is an unusually bright boy. I believe you 
will have cause to be proud of him some da3^” 

“Do you really think so? It has seemed to me 
sometimes that he has an unusually quick and accu- 
rate mental grasp of things, but then I have thought 
that being his father I would naturally think that. He 
was a wonderful orator when he was in school, and I 
have sometimes thought that he would like to be a 
statesman, but he hasn’t had much chance. He ex- 
pects to take the bar examinations in the summer, and 
then I suppose he will leave us and go to town.” 

When the two men said good-night there was an un- 
usual feeling in their hand-clasp, and the more stalwart 
of the two said, with a little break in his voice, “We 
haven’t been friends for twenty years for nothing, have 
we? If anything should ever happen to you, you know 
I would look after the girl as if she was my own, don’t 
you?” 

A month later a great sorrow had fallen over the 
hearts of all on the Nebraska farm, for even when death 
is the greatest joy possible to the one who is taken 
away, it is a sorrow, and a peculiarly pitiful sorrow, to 
the friends who have loved him and have longed to see 
other joys come to his lot. Another grave was dug 
under the cottonwood tree where they had laid his 
gentle wife many years before, and he was left at peace 
at last. 

His beautiful young daughter became one of the 
Marsh children, and home seemed to have acquired a 
new interest for the members of that family, especiall}^ 
for. the eldest son, Philip. 

But one day a letter arrived from the East, an an- 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


7 

swer was soon dispatched and a week later another 
arrived. One morning a few days after the receipt of 
the last letter the old, rickety single buggy was drawn 
up in front of the Marsh farm-house, and after the last 
half-tearful farewells were said, Laura Conway, Philip 
and his father drove away over the prairie. 

The last words her foster father said to her were: 
“It*s for the best, Laura, I am sure, for sister Faith 
can give you so many advantages that you could never 
have out here in the West. And you will love her. I 
know you will.- Be sure and call her Aunt Faith. She 
will be so pleased. And tell her all about the children 
and what a man Philip has grown to be lately. Come, 
PJiil, the train will be moving in a moment. We must 
be getting off. ” 

Blit Philip found time for a last word in her ear. 
‘‘Can’t I come and bring you back some day, Laura?” 

“Some day,” the child answered. 

“Good-bye.” 

“Good-bye.” 

After the death of her mother, Faith Marsh contin- 
ued to live in the old New England farm-house in which 
she had been born, in which she had learned to love 
and from which sho' had seen her father, brother and 
lover go forth at the call of their country, the first and 
last never to return. There she had grown old and, with 
the passing years, she had grown gentler and sweeter 
and more compassionate. 

When her mother was taken from her, her thoughts 
and affections had begun to cling more and more about 
her far-off western brother and his children. True, she 
had not seen him for more than twenty years and had 
never seen one of his children, while she often saw her 
sister and her two nephews from New York. But they 
had grown away from her simple life. She seemed to 
feel about them an arrogance of wealth. When she 
visited in their handsome New York home her innate 
refinement made her constantly, though almost uncon- 
sciously, ashamed of the gaudy display on every side. 


8 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


Her sister and brother-in-law, she knew, were of the 
great 400, who, to the people of the United States, ap- 
pear like a second set of Greek gods and goddesses on a 
second Olympus. But in spite of that knowledge she 
tried in vain to admire, and feel her distance beneath, 
the well groomed ladies who came to her sister’s bou- 
doir to talk about the dog show, and the faultlessly at- 
tired men with stomachs in sizes numbering o'ff the 
j'ears of their lives, who' discussed the latest English 
actor and the latest English fad. 

After such a visit she always went home thinking 
more and more about the Nebraska farm. And so when 
the letter came which told her* that her brother’s old 
friend, for whom he had done so much and with whom 
he had suffered so much, was dead and had left him his 
seventeen year old daughter to care for, she began to 
think out a plan. 

“He has four children of his own,” she said to her- 
self, “but I couldn’t have the heart to ask him for one 
of them. But this other child that he must take care 
of. I might have her.” 

Thus it happened that shortly after her father’s death 
Laura Conway said farewell to the waving acres of grain 
among which she had been born and brought up, and 
was whirled away to a new home under the elm and 
oak trees of old New England. 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


9 


CHAPTER 11. 

She had said that he could come for her some day, 
and four years later it seemed to him that that “some 
day” must have come. He had been working hard, and 
though a great deal more glory than lucre had thus far 
come to his lot, his business had at last demanded his 
presence in New York City for a few days and he had 
determined to take advantage of that fact to pay a visit 
to his aunt and her young guest. 

Finishing his business sooner than he had expected, 
he decided to surprise them by arriving a day early, 
and thus it was that one bright morning of early sum- 
mer a tall, distinguished looking young man of about 
twenty-five stepped from the train on to the platform 
of a little vine-covered New England station and asked 
the way to the home of Miss Faith Marsh. Down the 
road to the left and then up the lane to the right he 
walked, thinking all the time of the bent form of his 
father and of how his eyes, old before their time, would 
brighten again at sight of these daisy-besprinkled 
fields, of these elms by the road-side, of the soft grass 
under foot and of the old house he could just see at the 
end of the lane, with the ivy almost covering its front. 
He wondered if things had looked the same when his 
father and mother had wandered there hand in hand, 
whispering of all their young hopes and ambitions; if 
things had Jooked the same when his grandfather had 
seen them last as he went down the lane with his only 
son, both clothed in the blue; if things had looked the 
same when his father and mother had said good-bye to 
the home of their youth twenty-five years before to 
make a new home in a new country. 

He came to a gate and a stile, a real old-fashioned 
stile, and stopped a moment. Suddenly, as he was 
looking at the broad ivy-covered porch, a young girl, 
dressed all in white, came down the steps, followed by 
a slender, dapper 5^oung man. Though he had never 


10 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


seen her so beautiful, the man on the stile knew her 
instantly But the young man he did not know, and he 
felt the delightfully doubtful sensation with which he 
had undertaken this visit giving place to a sinking of 
the heart as he watched the pair. 

They went around the house without seeing him, and 
then he walked slowly up the path and knocked at the 
open door of the big, old-fashioned hall. 

•‘Come in,” called a sweet voice from somewhere 
within, and he stepped over the threshold and stood a 
moment gazing about him. 

“Aunt Faith,” he said, hesitatingly. 

“Philip I” he heard uttered in trembling tones, and 
in a moment his arms were about the form of the little 
old maid aunt whom he had never seen, yet whom he 
had known intimately from his childhood. 

The tears were in her eyes, but she was laughing as . 
she said: “Lean down and let me kiss you. Why, you 
are so tall I I feel as if I might be a girl again and my 
father might have come back from a long journey. 
And you look like him, too. You have the same eyes 
and the same firm mouth. But your brow and hair are 
more like your father’s. And there is something about 
you that is just like your mother, but I can’t tell what. 
Why, they have all come back to me in you, father and 
brother and friend I” 

She led him into the shady sitting room and there 
they sat side by side on the little hair-cloth sofa like 
two lovers, and laughed and talked and read each other’s 
eyes. , 

She was small and slight in build, but her face was 
like his -father’s, except that it was younger and less 
careworn. And yet in the first hour he could see that 
life had not been as smooth and easy for this lonely 
woman as they in the West had thought, and that her 
eyes were not as bright as they might have been. 

As for her, although for years she had thought of 
this boy as the bright flower of the family, she w'as far 
from disappointed in her nephew. That he would com- 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


11 


bine all the good qualities of his grandfather, grand- 
mother, father and mother, the four beings whom she 
had most admired and loved in the world, except one, 
who had fallen at Gettysburg, she had expected, and 
yet there was something else about this handsome 
young man, something that she, with her subtle senses, 
recognized as making him almost of another race from 
any one she had ever known. 

“Have you seen Laura?’' she asked at last. “Only 
in the distance! Oh! that was your cousin with her, 
George Garrison. He comes up to see us often in the 
summer. You know they were all here for a while last 
year. He has only been here a few' days. I was sorry 
to have him just when you were coming, but of course 
it could not be helped. I suppose you know that the 
rest of the family have gone to Newport.” 

They heard voices outside and she went to the door, 
saying, “Wait a moment and I will send Laura in to 
see you. She will be so surprised.” 

“My cousin! He is rich and could give her every- 
thing, while I am poor and could give her nothing,” 
was the thought in his mind as he rose and stood wait- 
ing in the shadowy room. 

In a moment he heard the rustle of skirts and a 
white robed figure stood in the doorway. One second 
she stood there, and then, with a little cry, she came 
towards him, both hands outstretched. 

As he looked down at her he could see that her face 
was flushed and her eyes were drooping, but he thought 
it was because of shame and regret for the last words she 
had said to him. He took her hand and made some 
commonplace remark. In a second she stiffened up 
and glanced at him, and he thought she looked relieved. 

Then his aunt came in and he w'as introduced to his 
cousin. The latter was a sallow, keen-eyed young man 
of probably twenty-six or seven, with something of his 
cousin’s firm expression about the mouth. Though 
dressed in the height of the fashion, he seemed to have 
more of the shrewd, capable business man about him 
than of the society dandy. 


12 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


As the two cousins clasped hands their eyes met, and 
for a moment each studied the face opposite him, so 
like his own in general outline and yet so totally differ- 
ent from his own in everything that shows either char- 
acter or education. 

The girl glanced from one to the other, and the elder 
woman saw her lip quiver suddenly and the tears well 
up in her eyes. 


CHAPTER III. 

That night Philip Marsh was sitting by the open 
window of his room, his chair tipped back, his feet on 
the sill and his hands deep in his pockets, when there 
was a light knock on the door, and at his answer his 
cousin entered and proposed that they should take a 
stroll and a smoke together. 

“I don’t smoke, but I will go with you with pleasure,” 
he answered. 

The moon was full and its light gave the two cousins, 
walking side by side, opportunity to watch the chang- 
ing expressions of each other’s faces as they conversed. 
At first they spoke only of famil)^ affairs, but the two 
families had been so long separated that there was lit- 
tle common ground in that subject, and at last the 
elder asked: 

“By the way, I remember that my father used to 
send you reams of literature on finance several years 
ago. How did you decide to stand on that question?” 

The other man glanced at his cousin, a keen, inquir- 
ing look in his eyes. 

“I decided to stand for gold and silver,” he said. 

“I thought likely. I wonder if we could discuss the 
subject without getting too hot over it.” 

“I am sure we can. I think we can settle a good 
many points by a simple admission from one side or 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


13 


the other, and when those points are settled the ques- 
tion is really very simple. But to begin with I would 
like to have one thing understood, and that is that we 
are not talking about a double standard but about a 
single standard composed of two metals, gold and 
silver. ” 

“Certainly. Well, to put the matter in a nut-shell, 
it is simply as to whether we shall have gold for our 
only foundation money or whether we shall have gold 
and silver.” 

“I will start out with an admission, and it is that if 
we once got onto a gold basis and were not smashed in- 
to a thousand pieces in getting there, we might be 
prosperous on that basis. Personally I don’t think we 
would be, because I don’t think there would be a large 
enough circulating medium, but no one can really know 
how it would work, for the reason that an exclusively 
gold basis has never been tried before in the history of 
the world.” 

“Agreed, thus far, only I think it would work ad- 
mirably. I can’t see any reason why it should not. 
We claim that gold alone would make a more stable 
basis than gold and silver combined. You claim that 
gold and silver together, with either one as the legal 
measure of the other,makes just as stable a basis, and I 
admit that if there was an agreement between the prin- 
cipal nations of the earth giving free and unlimited 
coinage to both metals at a fixed ratio, the two to- 
gether could not help but be just as stable money as 
either alone. But it is generally supposed that we are 
on a gold basis now, and we are not smashed into a 
thousand pieces yet.” 

“You are right. It is so supposed. Btit as a matter 
of fact, though legally we are on a gold basis, practi- 
cally we are only slowly going to that basis. Now, by 
all first principles of good finance there can be in a 
country, in addition to a certain amount of basic money 
(gold and silver combined in this country prior to 1873 
and gold alon^ now), the same amount or less of other 
coin or paper to represent that basic money, but there 


14 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


can’t be one penny more, for if there was, that one 
penny would be based on nothing but wind, and in 
case of a run on the government could not be redeemed. 
Isn’t that so?” 

‘‘Come now, you are trying to get me into a hole. 
You are trying to make me acknowledge that this 
country is not on a sound financial basis to day because 
it has about twice as much silver and greenbacks in 
circulation as it ought to have. Well, between you and 
me and the'moon, that is true enough,, but we are going 
to remedy that defect by cutting down tbe silver and 
greenbacks until together they equal the gold. We 
aren’t through with our job yet. Just give us a chance 
to finish up.” 

“In the meanwhile you are in grave danger of having 
a disastrous run on the United States treasury. But 
let us go on. The money of a country represents the 
total value of the property of a country, does it not? 
Well then, if there are a certain number of dollars in a 
country the property of that country is worth just that 
number of dollars, and if there is only half that num- 
ber of dollars the property is worth only half that 
number of dollars.” 

“Just so. It is simply a question as to whether we 
shall have the number two represent the circulating 
medium of the country or the number one. You say 
two and we say one.” 

“Now you say your work isn’t done, that we have not 
reached that one point yet, for the reason that the gov- 
ernment itself is bolstering up on its credit a great lot 
of silver coins and greenbacks which are really based 
on nothing but wind.” 

“Yes. The government by that means breaks the 
fall from a silver and gold to a single gold standard. 
Of course all values have got to fall to just one-half 
what they were under the old standard, but you see we 
are letting them down easy, so as to avoid the chance 
of everything getting smashed into a thousand pieces, as 
you say.” 

“Then you see why we are not practically on the 
single gold standard -yet.’’ 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


15 


George Garrison threw away the stump of his cigar, 
stretched himself and laughed. 

‘‘I only wanted to know if you really saw that,” he 
said. 

“Well, do you want me to prove to you this proposi- 
tion: Falling prices paralyze business?” 

“No. ^ Nobody but a business idiot would deny that. 
But business will come up again like a mushroom when 
we get things down to a solid basis. And anyway, it is 
necessary to have the gold standard, business or no 
business. England, Europe, repudiation, don’t you 
know? But perhaps we can have an international 
agreement pretty soon. We are perfectly willing to 
have an international agreement.” 

“Come now. You know just as well as I do that an 
international agreement means an agreement with 
England, and that as England is the great creditor na- 
tion of the world, the gold standard simply washes 
money from every direction onto her shores. When 
you can make an assembly of all the rich men of this 
country give away the greater proportion of their wealth 
to the poor of the country you can then begin to hope 
for an international agreement. But even then it would 
be a good deal to expect one country to do for other 
countries what one citizen of a country would do for 
other citizens of the same country. But you know per- 
fectly well that the world will be too cold to be habit- 
able when England voluntarily agrees to restore bimet- 
allism.” 

The other laughed again. “I guess you are right,” 
he said. “But that simply means that we have got to 
stick to our gold standard.” 

“You mean to say that we might just as well not 
have had the Revolutionary War, that in spite of that 
war we still have to do just what England commands. 
I am not ready to believe that, and I hope sincerely I 
shall never have cause to believe it. But now as for 
the rest of the world, it would be glad enough to follow 
the lead of the United States. Isn’t that so?” 

“Perhaps, — well, probably. But the United States 


16 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


will never lead in that direction, so they will never 
have a chance to follow her.” 

“And as for repudiation, every debt that was made 
payable in gold would be paid in gold and every debt 
that was made payable in sound money would be paid 
in sound money.” 

“Well, but what are you kicking about anyway? 
We have legally the gold standard now, and in a few 
years we will have it practically. All the big civilized 
countries have it' too, so what under the sun is the 
matter with it? What are you silver fellows kicking 
up such a row for, — and stirring up kicks all over the 
country among people whose head-pieces can no more 
hold this subject than they can the Washington capi- 
tol? If you would leave us alone we would have things 
fixed and in good working order in a few years.” 

“We are kicking for two reasons. One is that you 
are destroying the natural system of finances, the one 
which has existed since the loeginning of the world, and 
are substituting for it a theoretical system of your own 
which is being tried for the first time within the knowl- 
edge of man. We maintain that under that system 
there would not be a large enough circulating medium 
to keep civilization in running order. You maintain 
that there would. The other reason we are kicking is 
that the business stagnation that you speak of so glibly 
as necessary for some years, until your scheme is in 
working order, means physical, mental and moral ruin 
for the vast majority of the inhabitants of this country. 
It means that this free republic of ours is to be made 
a vast whirlpool of insanity, crime and starvation. 
When you get your scheme in nice working order, what 
are you going to have to work it on? It is all very well 
to talk about our having a choice between the gold and 
silver standard and a single gold standard! Our choice 
is simply between prosperity and ruin.” 

The other man raised his eyebrows. 

“Oh! So that is what you are driving at. Come 
now, old fellow, don’t you worry about the jDeople. 
We’ll look after those who can’t look after themselves. 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


17 


The working people of this country live too high, any- 
way. It would be an excellent thing for them to learn 
economy.” 

Philip Marsh looked into his cousin’s face and then 
said slowly, ‘‘If you say that the toilers, the producers 
of wealth of this country, live too high and ought to 
learn economy, what would you say about the rich 
idlers? But, pshaw I there is no use in arguing with you 
on that question. We two are simply looking for differ- 
ent things, that is all. You are looking for the best 
good of the rich few and I am looking for the best good 
of the poor masses. In the single gold standard you 
find what you want, and in the bimetallic standard I 
find what I want. If you were looking for a lost jewel 
and I was looking for a lost child, and you found your 
jewel, it wouldn’t satisfy me, and if I found my child it 
wouldn’t satisfy you.” 

“Nevertheless, the best good of the rich is the best 
good of the poor, don’t you know?” 

“In other words, if one man has $100 and another 
man has $1, it is better for the second man to let the 
first get $100 more in order that he himself might get 
about two cents more, than for him to insist on laws 
under which their wealth would increase proportion- 
ately. I tell you I am for gold and silver, the money 
of the constitution of the United States of America. 
As our bodies need water our civilization needs money. 
Take away all water from our body and we die; take 
away all money from our civilization and it dies. Take 
away hydrogen from our water and what have we left? 
An inflammable gas. Take away silver from our money 
and what have we left? An unstable, abnormally in- 
flated bubble which can no more take the place of sound 
money to our civilization than oxygen can take the 
place of water to oirr bodies. In unmistakable terms gold 
and silver cry to the people of this country, ‘United 
we stand; divided we fall.’ You say that the com- 
mercial value of silver has fallen, and I ask you what 
would happen to the commercial value of wheat if all 
the people in the world could suddenly be induced to 


18 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


believe that wheat was poison and should stop using it 
as food? And what would happen to the commercial 
value of gold if the mints of the world should be closed 
to it as they are to silver? You say that silver is pro- 
duced cheaply now, and I say that the greatest authori- 
ties on that subject declare that on an average the cost 
of producing an ounce of silver is greater than the cost 
of producing an ounce of gold. And yet all Ave want is 
that sixteen ounces of silver shall equal one ounce of 
gold. You say that you are afraid of giving the silver 
mine owners a good thing. First I would like you to 
think of this, that if by establishing a bimetallic stand- 
ard you are giving the silver mine owners a good thing, 
what are you doing for the gold mine owners by estab- 
lishing a single gold standard? Second, think of this, 
that most mines which produce either silver or gold 
produce both in varying proportions; ‘they are wedded 
by God Almighty in the earth.’” 

“And I tell you, my young cousin, that I have seen 
more of the world than you have, and that I am for 
myself and company, and don’t you forget it I” 

“There I Now you say what you mean. That is bed 
rock. Your arguments for an international agreement 
are of the class that were used by the Tories in this 
country in 1776. And your arguments for a single 
standard are of the class that were used by some people 
in this country for negro slavery. The only difference 
is that you use those arguments for white slavery.” 


OR THE CROSS OP GOLD 


19 


CHAPTER IV. 

‘‘No, Aunt Faith, I will not ask her to he my wife. 
And I will not allow her t'o know that I care anything 
for her, never. If it was necessary I would take pains 
to make myself disagreeable to her in order that she 
should not care for me, but should learn to love my 
cousin, but that isn’t necessary. She loves him now.” 

“Philip! Philip! Why do you say that? The girl 
loves you. She has loved you for years.” 

“Tut, tut, only a childish fancy! She is grown up 
now. But if I thought she cared for me to-day I would 
leave here without ever seeing her again. Then she 
would get over it. Pride would come to her rescue. 
That girl deserves the very best things of this world, 
and I can’t give them to her. I never can. You know 
I would give everything, everything in the world ex- 
cept her own happiness and her own good, to have her, 
to know that she loved me, but I will not give that. I 
will never give that. And I believe she loves my cousin, 
and I am glad of ic, yes, glad, for he can give her every- 
thing and I can give her nothing but my love, and 
love, a man’s love for a woman, needs backing, always.” 

“ Why do you say that you can give her nothing? I am 
perfectly out of patience with you. The idea of a 3^oung 
man, only twenty-four years old, with body and mind 
perfect, in a free country like this, with just as good a 
chance to be President as any one, if he wants to be, 
saying that he can’t have a wife because he can’t give 
her the good things of this earth! I am out of patience 
with you. ” 

“Aunt Faith, I will tell you what I mean. Since 
1878 there has been a certain law in this free land of 
ours, which is governed by the people and for the pgo- 
ple,which even its most ardent supporters acknowledge 
to be greatly in the interest of the man who loans 
money and greatly against the interest of the man who 


20 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


borrows money. My father, as you know, to help a 
dear friend in the greatest need, borrowed some money 
about eighteen years ago. Soon afterwards this law was 
passed and it has been crushing him ever since. From 
time to time he has had to borrow more to pay the in- 
terest on the first amount and to feed and clothe his 
family, for this same law has made prices of farm prod- 
ucts so low that a farm can do little more than pay for 
itself and gives the farmer only the barest pittance 
with which to buy for himself necessaries, the prices of 
which have either not fallen at all or not perceptibly, 
in reward for his thought and labor. To-day his total 
indebtedness is just twice in dollars what it was on the 
day that law was enacted and has reached the full 
value of everything he has in the world. My father is 
an honest man, and would give his life a thousand 
times over rather than that his honest debt should not 
be paid. He knows that his property now is worth that 
debt, but be knows that if it was paid there would be 
nothing left for his wife and children. But now let 
me tell you something. In 1872 my father could have 
sold a certain amount of his crops, with every kind of 
grain he grows represented in that amount, for $101. 
To-day he can sell the same amount, with the same 
Quantities of the same grains in tiiat amount, for only 
$65. You can see that if that debt had been paid back in 
the same year in which it was made he could have paid 
it with 65 portions of the food material which he raises, 
while to-day it would take 101 portious,and that if it had 
been paid then the creditor could only have bought 65 
portions of that food material with it while to-day he 
could buy 101 portions. What is more, the price of 
farm products is still steadily going down, so that every 
year it would take more of everything my father can 
raise to pay that debt. And every year as the value of 
the crop of the farm decreases the value of the farm it- 
self .decreases. You may say that if that is so, he had 
better sell out immediately and start out' on a new line, 
but he can’t do it. He was born and brought- up on a 
farm and has never in his life turned bis hand to any- 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


21 


thing but farming. And he couldn’t do it now. He 
has been growing old. lately, not old in years, but old 
and broken just the same. Besides, he knows that if he 
gave up the farm it would leave me with the whole 
family to support. He won’t do that. I have tried to 
induce him to, but he won’t. It would be much easier 
for me in the end, for we could manage somehow, but 
I can't tell him that. He says that I must have my 
chance unhampered while I am young. Then there is 
another thing that makes it impossible to urge that on 
him, and that is that it would break his heart to leave 
the old place. It would kill him and my mother too. 
When you think of all the years of work, work, work 
that they have 'put on that place, of all the associations 
that cling about it — no I they must stay there as long 
as they live. My father, not having tried to sell, 
doesn’t know how the farm is decreasing in value, and 
if I can help it he never shall. I know that at the 
present rate of decrease,within five years the mortgage 
on the-placg will be a good deal more than its value. 
But if to-day that farm wasn’t worth a single little 
gold dollar to any one else on the face of the earth, 
without it life itself wouldn’t be worth very much to 
my father and mother, and you may rest assured that 
as long as they live, if it costs me all, instead of one, 
of my selfish personal ambitions, they shall call that 
farm their home, that very spot which they, with the 
loving labor of years and years, have transformed from 
a dry and barren wilderness into one of the most beau- 
tiful garden spots on earth. There, where they made 
their first home together, where their children were 
born and where one is now buried, where they have 
labored and loved and grown old together, they must 
remain until — a better home is ready for them.” 

He paused a moment. His aunt w'as weeping silently. 
“Now you see,” he went on, “it is not only to my 
uncle’s class, the creditor class, that we owe this 
money, but directly to my uncle. His money is con- 
stantly increasing in purchasable value as our produce 
is constantly decreasing in marketable value. The gulf 


22 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


is constantly widening. They are growing richer and 
we are growing poorer. If you had an uncut, unpol- 
ished diamond which would you give it to, the man 
who could do nothing but put it back in the earth from 
which it came or the man who could have it cut and 
polished and set to adorn some great place in the 
world?” 

The old maid was trembling and the tears were roll- 
ing down her cheeks, but she stood, as if defiant, in 
the middle of the room, and said in a low, choking 
voice, “I would give my diamond to the man whose 
very touch would make it the most beautiful jewel on 
earth. ” 

An hour later he was sitting alone in his room, in 
darkness save for a flood of moonlight from the win- 
dow, which fell on his head and shoulders and then full 
on the door beyond. There was a light tap and he 
started, pulled himself together, and called, “Come in,” 
thinking it was his cousin. 

The door opened slowly. He looked up. It was a 
white figure instead of a dark that stood in the open- 
ing, the figure of a woman in a soft, light dress with 
a red rose pinned in its folds. The man, this strong, 
self-reliant, yet passionate man, was for a moment spell- 
bound. Then he started forward, but quick as thought 
she had closed the door behind her and stood with her 
back against it, her head thrown back, showing the 
white column of her throat, her white face set and de- 
termined and her deep blue eyes sparkling. 

“I love you,” she said. 

He started back, confused, abashed, embarrassed. 
He tried to say something, anything, but he could re- 
member no words. He stared at her and she stared 
back. He longed in every fiber of his being not to have 
to answer in words, just to take that beautiful thing in 
his arms. His soul struggled with his heart until in a 
moment he thought he would go mad. Then he turned 
his eyes away and like a great wave all the resolutions 
of his manhood rushed back over him and he was 
strong. 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


23 


‘‘Why have you come hei’e?’Vhe asked, in a low, 
husky voice. 

“I love you,” came back in strong, sweet, vibrating 
woman’s tones. 

“Hcis my aunt told you of our conversation?” 

“I love you,” was his^only answer. 

He felt that he would go crazy. “But I will never 
marry you,” he exclaimed, 

“I love you.” The vuice was only sweeter. 

He turned full upon her again. Her eyes were bright 
as ever. “You don’t know what you are saying. I can 
be nothing to you, can do nothing for you. I am poor, 
I tell you. I can’t support you. I won’t support you. 
My cousin is rich. He loves ycxi. He can give you 
everything on earth you may want. You love him. 
You know you do. You have got to love him.” 

“I love you.” There was a barely perceptible accent 
on the last word. 

It was maddening. He was trembling like a loaf and 
his eyes were blazing. “Girl, stop saying that. If you 
say it again I will choke you. I tell you, I will. You 
are talking foolishness. You are killing me. I will 
not hear you say that again. Go away from here. 
Leave my room.” 

Her head had sunk upon her breast and two great 
tears were rolling down her cheeks, but she still stood 
her ground. 

“I love you,” she said, though it was only a low sob. 

In a second his arms w'ere about her and he was chok- 
ing her with wild, mad kisses. 

CHAPTER V. 

Three years passed by and in a certain Nebraska town 
there was a little house which Philip Marsh called home 
and over which Laura, the beautiful young mother of 
his two children, a boy of two and a baby girl, presided. 

Three years passed by and the day came when, under 
the spreading branches of a great elm tree, shading the 
roomy farm-house, a reclining chair was placed. In it 
Philip’s father was lying, pale and thin, but with bright 


24 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


eyes and smiling lips, while at his side sat his brave 
little wife, darning the stockings that never all get 
darned, but that are always on hand to exemplify the 
saying that ‘^woman’s work is never done.” It was 
the first time he had been out of the house since the 
winter snow was on the ground, for he had had a severe 
attack of pneumonia, brought on by exposure during a 
terrible storm, and bad been delirious for weeks. In 
his wild ravings during that time there had seemed to 
be one thought uppermost in his mind, one thought 
round which all others clung. Night after night and 
day after day he had tossed on his bed, with fever 
parched lips and burning eyes, and always in his delir- 
ium he had talked of^the mortgage on his home. 

“If I could only pay off the mortgage when it 
comes due. The first of June, 1893 — June, 4893. I must 
have the money then, every cent of it. I must work, 
work, work, work. If I could only pay off the mort- 
gage so that the children could have the farm. We 
couldn’t bear to lose the old place, could we, Jennie? 
If only the children could have it after we are. gone. 
They would take care of it and love it. When they were 
tired out with struggling in the great world they would 
come back here where they played as little children, and 
they would remember how happy and innocent they 
were and they would be happy and innocent again, 
with the memory of childhood in their hearts, and they 
would go back into the world rested and strengthened 
and comforted. And their little children would come 
and would play all over the place,and everything would 
smile at them, the trees and the grass and the grain. 
Ohl if I could only pay the mortgage. June, 1893. 
How many years more have I? I can’t remember. Oh, 
yes, I have plenty of time. The crops are fine this year. 
I can lay by a lot of money in the fall to pay the mort- 
gage. No, I don’t think I will have a new overcoat this 
winter. My old one can be mended. Made over for 
Jack, did you say? That’s right. The little fellow 
needed it, and there must have been enough good cloth 
to make a nice one for him. It’s going to be a mild 
winter, and I will wear my heavy coat. When it is 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


25 


cold I can button it up tight and wear the new muffler 
Faith made for me. How many years did you say? 
Only one I We must work harder than ever, Jennie. 
Only one year more. But we can do it. I know we can. 
Then we can rest, when the mortgage is paid. Don’t 
tell Philip'. He is young and ho must have a chance. 
We must not pull him back, not for anything in the 
world. Eighty cents, did you say? Only eighty cents? 
Why, we used to get $1.40, you know, in ’72. Only eighty 
cents a bushel for wheat! Jennie, we can’t pay off the 
mortgage next year. We’ll have to get them to extend 
it for a few years more. Of course they will! The place 
is worth more than the mortgage on it, a good deal 
more. Why, all the work of our lives is on this place, 
all the work and all the thought, and that is worth a 
good deal, I tell ^mu. Not worth it! Why, man, you 
are crazy. I know it is worth more than that. I’ll go 
to some one who understands the value of a good farm 
all under cultivation. How much do you offer me for 
such a place? Why, you are making game of me, be- 
cause you think I am getting old. I could have sold it 
for that twenty years ago. Not worth as much now as 
it was then! I don’t believe you. I won’t believe that 
I have nothing, less than nothing, to show for twenty 
years of labor. I won’t believe it. I am so tired. It 
seems to me I can’t work any more. And I know you 
are just as tired, Jennie, though you never say you are. 
I sometimes think your work has been even harder than 
mine. But we’ll rest after a while, Jennie. Our work 
will be done when the mortgage is paid.” 

When at last he had wakened up to recognize the 
figures round his bed, his little wife, who had nursed 
and cared for him so carefully for more than three 
months, had dropped the care on other shoulders and 
had gone to bed in another room, and now, in early 
summer, the two were convalescing together. 

“Do 3 mu remember when we planted this tree?” he 
asked, looking up at the green foliage above him. 

“Indeed I dp. It was the day we arrived. In the 
evening we planted the tree by the light of the camp- 
fire, and oh, don’t you remember how we joined hands 


26 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


over the poor little sleuder stick aod danced around it, 
and you said we would have it for our family tree? And 
when you said that, I was so afraid it would die and I 
watered it and took such good care of it that it was the 
first thing that was the least bit green on the place.” 

“Yes, and don’t you remember the first lime Philip 
was ever taken outdoors we laid him down in the shade 
of that tree and told them both, the tree aiid the baby, 
to grow up together and always to be good friends?” 

There was the sound of horses’ feet on the road near 
by and the mother raised her head from her work. “I 
believe that must be Philip now,” she said. “He is 
early. ” 

But as the horseman came in sight they saw that it 
ws not their son but a neighbor, who flung himself from 
his horse and came quickly towards them, as if in some 
excitement. 

“Hello I Glad to see you out,” was his greeting, as 
he took the invalid’s white hand in his rough red one 
and shook it, at the same time mopping his wet fore- 
head with a red bandana handkerchief. 

“Say,” he went on, without waiting for any reply, 
“you iiain’t got nothing in the banks in town, hev ye? 
Fur if you hev you’d better get it out double quick. I 
thought as I’d stop an’ tell yer, bein’ as yer son isn’t 
round jist now, but they’re hevin’ a fearful run on the 
banks an’ some folks say as they can’t all pay an’ ’ll 
hev to shet up their doors. The’re folks standin’ in 
line way out in front of the First National. I saw ’em 
myself, an’ over at the Savings Bank there was sich .a 
crowd they was jam min’ in the doors. An’ the town’s 
all excitement, I jist tell yer.” 

He paused, out of breath, and just then another 
horse came trotting swiftly up the driveway, and this 
time Philip himself dismounted and came np to his 
father and mother, with a smile and a cheerful word 
on his lips. 

“Is this true, that they are having a run on the banks 
in town, Philip?” said his father. 

A little frown came between the son’s brows. “Yes,” 


OR THE CROSS OP GOLD 


27 


he answered. “But it isn’t going to amount to much. 
They are all solid, you know.” 

“But isn’t all your money in the First National?” 
was the mother’s anxious inquiry. 

“Yes, and it is going to remain there until I want 
it, too. I don’t 'believe in this thing of everybody’s 
running to a bank and drawing out their deposits, 
simply on a vague scare. Ten to one of the people who 
have drawn out their money to-day wdll deposit it in 
the same bank again to-morrow.” 

Thus he reassured his father and mother, though all 
the while he saw before his eyes the doors of the First 
National Bank, as he had seen them half an hour before, 
with a great white sign hanging on them which read, 
“Closed,” and all the while the words on a slip of yel- 
low paper in his pocket kept ringing in his ears, the 
words: “Mortgage can not be renewed. Must have 
entire amount immediately or foreclose.” 

“Look here, you are my last hope. I have tried 
every one in the world I can think of I I have done 
everything. I tell you I have got to have the money, 
and you have got to get it for me some way.” 

“And I tell you you can’t mortgage that farm for 
one dollar to any one on the face of this globe, and as 
for your personal credit, there are thousands of men in 
this country to-day with personal credit as good as yours 
who can’t get a nickel on it. I tell you there isn’t any 
money. That’s what’s the matter. What we ought to 
have here in circulation is cornered in New York and 
London, and we people might just as well try to put 
out the sun as to try to get a penny of it. And if you 
got that money and sent it to your uncle it would only 
be so much more in the corner. But you can’t get it. 
Precious little good they’ll get out of foreclosing, but 
you’ve got to let them do it and lump it. That’s all there 
is about it.” 

“What I The mills closed I” 

“Yes, they say they can’t get money enough to run 
them any longer.” 


28 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


“But what are the people going to do? They will 
h^ve to go away. ” 

“Some have gone already, but I guess they might as 
well stay here. Things are closing down all over New 
England. It’s that Wilson bill.” 

A party of neighbors was gathered on the porch of 
the old New England farm-house. They had dropped 
in after their early suppers to discuss the news of the 
hour, the closing of the mills which gave employment 
to hundreds of men and women in the vicinity. 

It was a thrifty neighborhood. The farmers were 
poor and worked hard for their scanty living, but few 
of them were in debt and they knew no betteT lot. The 
mill workers furnished a steady market for their prod-, 
uce, so that what little they had was at least secure, 
but now that the mills were closed they saw with con- 
sternation their own means of livelihood slipping out 
from under them. In addition, they saw that unless 
the mills reopened or the mill hands could find w'ork 
elsewhere, they were likely to be just so many pau- 
pers quartered oin the community. 

Just as they were in the height of their discussion a 
carriage drew up in front of the house, and a tall, slim, 
sallow young man alighted and came up the steps It 
was George Garrison, who had arrived unexpectedly 
from New York. He spoke pleasantly to the people, 
but at his coming they began to disperse and soon he 
and his aunt were left alone. 

“I was all tired out with the work,” he said, “so I 
thought I would come up for a day or so of rest. This 
has been such a busy summer. I haven’t had time to 
get off for a moment.” 

“But tell me, are the mills likely to be closed for 
long? And what are the poor people going to do?” 

He answered her questions by a counter-question: 
“Do they think it is the Wilson bill?” 

“Yes, but — ” 

He gave a sigh of relief- “That’s all right,” he said. 
«He dropped back into an easy chair with a little grating 
laugh. “That’s all right. But look here. I’ll tell 
you something if you will keep mum.” He leaned for- 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


29 


ward. ^‘It isn’t the Wilson bill at all. We are putting 
a little pressure to bear on the Senate to induce it to 
repeal the Sherman bill. A little pressure — that’s all. 
We are drawing in the money — temporarily, don’t you 
know? But mark my word, the money question, — 
money, is of more importance than all the tariffs that 
were ever made and that were never made put together. ” 


CHAPTER VI. 

The next winter the Marsh family lived in a little 
cottage on a side street of the Nebraska town where 
Philip had located as a young lawyer seven years be- 
fore. It was a comfortable cottage, but very small, 
and there was only a little square patch of grass in 
front and one or two switches stuck in the ground to 
represent trees. On either side, close up against theirs, 
were larger houses, and directly across the dusty street 
there was a groceiy store and a meat market. 

Philip’s younger brothers and even his sister tried 
their best all winter long to secure work of some kind, 
but there seemed to be nothing for them to do. Only 
discouragement and tales of worse need than their own 
met them on every side. One of the boys talked of 
going to the city where a friend of his had secured 
temporary employment, but in a week or so the friend 
came back telling the old grinding story of no pay 
for the work he ha.d done and no prospect of anything 
but starvation for the seekers after an honest liveli- 
hood in the cities. 

But somehow they lived. Philip worked hard over 
everything he could get to do, and always came home 
from his office with a cheerful, hopeful word for the 
helpless ones at home. 

His father did not seem to recover his strength as he 
ought, and spoke little except to his two-year-old grand- 
son and his baby granddaughter. When he began to 
walk out occasionally with the little boy he always 


80 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


turned to the east, to the direction where he knew was 
the home of his childhood, and away from where stood, 
among the trees he and Jennie had planted, the home 
he and Jennie had made, now the abode of strangers. 
Always he wore his little bronze Grand Army button, 
and sometimes when he saw some one else wearing a 
like button he would stop and speak and the two would 
recall recollections of their martial days. Others, even 
his friends and those who had been his neighbors on 
the old place for years, he seldom seemed to want to 
talk to, and sometimes when they spoke to him he 
would give rambling, half-coherent answers. 

Laura and the gentle little mother tried in everyway 
to help husband and son and make things easier for 
him, at the same time encouraging b}’ words and cheer- 
ful looks his brothers and his sister, who fe4 their de- 
pendence keenly but were utterly unable to assist in 
any material way. The two children were the light of 
the household. 

But just before Christmas their grandmother sickened 
and died, and after he had followed the long black 
hearse up the hill to the dry, barren burial ground of 
the town their grandfather didn’t go out any more. 
But the babies didn’t mind that, for he would sit by 
the fire and play with them by the hour, and tell them 
’wonderful stories that the oldest even could not un- 
derstand, but that made the eyes of both dilate with 
interest ;stories of heroes and battles and great patriots 
and great statesmen, stories of the forming and up- 
building and defending of the republic that he had 
loved so well. To the others, even to Philip, his eldest 
and best beloved, he seldom spoke except when some- 
thing would remind him of a war experience, and then 
he would tell the story. Sometimes he would tell things 
that they had heard before, but more often it would be 
something entirely new and he would linger over every 
detail as if he were living it over again. 

Thus the winter passed and spring came on, and 
there were rumors all through -the land of murders, of 
suicides, of insanity, of strikes, of risings among the 
starving people. 


OR THE CROSS OP GOLD 


31 


And one morning when Philip went to call his father 
he was gone. His bed had not been slept in and they 
could not find him in the neighborhood or in the town. 
He was gone and no one had seen him go. 

No words could ever tell the story of those days and 
weeks of anguished search, of the love and fear, of the 
hope and despair, of the agony of uncertainty shutting 
out every pang. No words could paint the horror of 
the scenes the searchers witnessed in that terrible time, 
that time w’hen first they saw the ravenous undercur- 
rent of our sea of civilization, the transparent under- 
current that in our daily lives we all could see and that 
3^et we all gaze through and see not. 

“I had a strange dream last night,” said Philip one 
morning at the breakfast table, “and I have determined 
to follow its suggestion. You may think I am super- 
stitious, but somehow I have a feeling that the dream 
was sent as a suggestion by which to find father.” 

He had only just returned from a careful search of 
one of the large cities of the central states, where he 
had been called to identify, if possible, the body of a 
man who had been found drowned in the river, and he 
looked haggard and almost spent with care and anxiety. 

It was a sad little company to which he spoke. Even 
the two children had felt the influence of the dark 
cloud spread over the hearts of the older ones, and for 
some time the little boy had spoken only in whispers to 
his baby sister about grandpa who used to play with 
them and tell them stories. Laura, to whom her father’s 
old and faithful friend had ever been dear as her father 
himself, was almost broken-hearted with the weight, 
not only of her own grief and anxiety, but of the 
awful sorrow she could see in her husband’s face. 
She had been alone a good deal during the last few 
weeks, for all the others had been engaged night and 
day scouring the country in search of some trace of 
their father. But always, when they would return with 
no clue, no hope, Laura was the one to cheer them up 
and send them out again to search once more where 
they had searched many times before. 

They all looked up when their brother spoke this 


32 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


morning, but there was nothing but despair written on 
their faces. 

“I’m afraid it is no use,” one said. 

“What was your dream?” asked Laura. 

“That I saw father and mother standing side by side 
in the old parlor of grandfather’s house. Everything 
seomed to be just the same as it is now, only it seemed 
as if the picture of grandfather in his army uniform 
was new. Mother had on a white dress and father wore 
the Union blue, and they both looked very young. And 
Aunt Faith was there and she looked young too, but 
she had on a black dress and there was some one else 
who had on a black dress, and that was grandmother. It 
seemed as if something was going on, but I couldn’t 
remember what it w^as wdien I woke up this morning. 
But I am going there to look for father — to his old 
home.” * 

“And then — ” began his sister. 

“I don’t know,” he answ^ered. “But w'e can’t give 
up the search. We can never give up the search.” 

With a quick, firm step Philip Marsh came up the 
lane and neared the old stile. He had just come to the 
spot from which one first has a clear view of the farm- 
house, when suddenly he saw something at the foot of 
one of the elm trees and paused. 

It was a rag-covered human figure, beaten and bent 
and shrunken out of all resemblance to humanity. 
There was no hat upon his head and his thin gray hair 
w'as matted and discolored. The shoes were w^orn from 
his feet, which w^ere black with clotted blood and the 
mud of the highway. He had no coat and only 
shreds of yellow linen clung to his torn and bleeding 
arms. His poor, worn body quivered and quaked be- 
neath the tatters of dark and greasy clothing. 

The man looked up as Philip paused. He looked up 
and Philip gazed into the eyes of his father. For a 
moment he was stunned and then he saw that the old 
man did not recognize him. He saw' that he was only 
as a stranger to this man who, nevertheless, w’as his 


OR THE CROSS OF GOLD 


33 


father. The face before him was calm and peaceful and 
the eyes were clear and limpid, in odd contrast with 
the shockingly pinched and neglected form. 

Philip went up to him and touched him on the 
shouklex “Come home with me,” he said. 

His father gazed at him with bright, unseeing eyes. 
“Yes,” he said, “I have come home. But there were 
three of us to go to the war and I ain the only one to 
come home again.” He turned towards the house. 
“Jennie is there and I have come home to her, but no 
one has come home to my mother and no one has come 
home to my little sister.” 

“You have come home to them all,” his son an- 
swered. 

“Perhaps. Still it isn’t just the same. But I mustn’t 
keep them waiting any longer.” 

He moved towards the stile with slow and painful 
steps. His son took his arm to assist him, but he 
seemed unconscious of the aching heart beside him. 
He spoke softly under his breath, but his son could not 
understand what he said. His face became graduall}^ 
illumined by a radiant, tender smile, and the tears of 
youth came to his eye§. 

Together they climbed the steps to the porch and en- 
tered the cool hall — this squalid, begrimed vagabond 
who had fought for the Union, and his haggard, care- 
worn young son. 

When they were in the hall the old man stopped and 
called out, “Mother, Faith, Jennie.” 

His voice was weak and cracked, but it reached the 
only one of those he called whom mortal voice could 
reach. 

With tears raining down her cheeks and thick-com- 
ing sobs Faith Marsh was clasped to the breast of her 
only brother, returned to his childliood’s home after 
thirty years, but returned too late. He called her 
“Jennie,” and then his eyes closed and he reeled and 
was caught in the arms of his son. 

Two days later, when Faith and Philip were watch- 
ing at his bedside, he opened his eyes again. His son 


84 


THE WHITE SLAVE 


leaned over him and he whispered, “Phil, where am I?” 

“At home,” was the answer. 

“No, not really at home,” he murmured. “The}^ took 
my home away from me.” 

“You are in your father’s home. And Aunt Faith is 
here and we are taking care of you..” 

The old man turned his eyes to the other side of the 
bed and they met his sister’s. “Faith,” he said, and 
smiled. 

Then he seemed to go to sleep again, but after a while 
he was looking up at them once more. 

“I remember everything,” he said slowly and dis- 
tinctly, ‘'^only I dont know how I came here, but it 
doesn’t matter. I have come home — but only to go to 
my real home. I saw them a little while ago in my 
dream — the other two who went down the lane with 
me that day and never came back again, and mother-* 
and Jennie and our little girl who was taken away from 
us — they are all waiting for me — at ho;'ne. ” 

He seemed tired and closed his eyes. Fora long time • 
he lay still, so still that they thought he would never 
wake again, and then suddenly he started and his eyes 
were wide. , • 

“Phil,” he said, “we freed the negroes thirty years 
ago. We declared that man, created in the image of 
God, could not be bought and sold. But, oh I Phil, I 
see men and women and children of our own race, of 
our own blood, 

‘“Slaves — in a land of light and law! 

Slaves — crouching on the very plains 
Where rolled the storm of Freedom’s war. 

“Oh, Phil, what is it that binds them? Oh, what is 
it, what is it? They fed the negroes so that they could 
work, but these people have no bread and can’t get 
work to do. They are slowly starving, starving ” 

He dropped back exhausted on his pillow. Then a 
happy, peaceful smile came over his wan face and he 
whispered, “Philip, my boy, the white slave will be 
freed, too. I — see them — throwing off — the yoke. 
Help — them — Phil. ” 







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